


Spy Is My...

by PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: BEHOLD, Backstory, Emotional Rollercoaster, Gen, Scout recalls something, about his dream/memory in russia, and goes searching for answers, and this story ended up being the accidental description, basically it's designed to fuck you up a little, but i tried, i also cannot draw to save my life, potential bonding, team fortress, this originally was just the drawing attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess/pseuds/PhoenixFire_theWizardGoddess
Summary: When everything settles down, the Classics are defeated and Team Fortress is given time off... Scout recalls a memory-dream he had in Russia. It sets off a frantic search through his baby things, for proof or at least plausible denial. What he finds... changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Based on a 3am idea, and then a bad drawing I did; I apologise in advance]

 

* * *

 

Scout feels perturbed by his near-death experience, (the one with the robots not the hotdog or the hanging situations, though he’s starting to feel they should be numbered at this point) and his ‘dream’ from back in Russia is nagging at him.

So, to allay the notion he’s trying to ignore, the runner takes a moment during a week home to dig about in their cramped storage closet (the closest thing their family has to an attic), and find the baby box with his name on it.

All the boys have one. Ma made sure. It’s embarrassing as hell when she can zero in on it when your friends are around… but now he appreciates it.

There are no photos of his father’s face. A suit in the backgrounds of some photos though… huh, he’d never noticed that before… the suit was distinctive and seemed to be there quite often, especially in public shots. 

He tells himself it means nothing.

It HAS to mean nothing.

Or…

 No, it doesn’t prove anything to anyone and dwelling on it won’t do anybody any good. 

Except… somewhere under the scuffed old baseball his brothers had swiped and gifted him, under his first bat, a lock of baby hair, the various photos scattered about… and that damned baby book cataloguing his every waking moment from birth to the day he left for Teufort…

…he found it… he knew what it was immediately. The scent was familiar and stirred… not quite memories, but impressions, of a time when he didn’t quite understand how fucked up the world was or how much being poor was going to impact… a time when he knew only that his Ma and brothers loved him, and crayons were fun to put in the toaster.

Yeah, he was a little inquisitive terror… there was a scorch mark on the bathroom ceiling that looked just like a waffle… that proved it.

 

But it was the shirt… he knew it. Just like… the dream, no, the memory… 

His wrapped hands, ready for a fight even on holidays, shook as they tentatively held onto the aged, worn fabric. 

It was real.

It was true…

Spy…

 

_Spy_ …

 

…and now they both knew for sure.

_God, his life was so freakin’ messed up_ , he thinks with a chuckle that devolved into something akin to a strangled sob. Something he’d always wanted to know… and now, he’d do anything to erase it… 

He wanted it to be anyone else…

…hell, if Pyro had been his father (mother? other parent?), at least he could be sure the firebug viewed him with something vaguely close to affection as they set the runner on fire…

Or any of the others…

Engie doled out paternal advice by the shovelful, Soldier shouted a lot but he let you know if you did him proud, Demo was the best-friend adult in his life, Sniper had that stoic-but-caring thing going on where he’d listen to you bitch then shoot straight with you about how you fucked up and what to do about it, Medic could get annoyed but he always reconciled and treated boo-boos with something approaching care, Heavy tended to speak slowly but he was smart and often tricked you into working out what you needed to do or say by yourself… 

…but Spy, oh god… the man had made no secret of his disdain for Scout.

 

How could he ever live up to that?

Scout would never meet the insurmountable standards Spy would have set for any potential child… he was practically the antichrist, compared to the fictional French offspring Spy probably wanted…

Scout heaves in a breath, and tries to let it out without making a sound of distress; even though it claws at his throat, begging to be released. He remembers something… sorta, from the robot thing… 

Of a voice saying it was proud, as he was dying (or trying to sleep or whatever that was before he flexed for God)… but that seemed kind of more like something his mind coulda made up to make him feel better. 

He feels like there’s more to it, but he just can’t remember well enough…

…well, he remembers naked Sniper, and he thinks Tom Jones was there, but that was a sidestory to the main event… 

 

…at least he had that, though.

 

Now he knew, nothing hurt more than being alive.

He loved his Ma, but how could she not have told him, she must have known Spy was at Teufort… that Spy was his-… ugh.

There was a feeling inside he hadn’t felt since his oldest brother died; it was like wanting to cry and scream at the same time… but not do either.  
Medic probably had some whacky-sounding latin word for it… but all Scout could think was that it made him feel so angry and frustrated and _helpless_ , the more it festered inside. 

 

Scout, no Jeremy, was shaking. It was awful. He couldn’t make it stop.

Shit, it was just like when he was little again. Sometimes when something bad would happen he’d just, stop… he couldn’t move or breathe or think what to do next. Ma or one’a his brothers would have to stay with him until it stopped… but he’d grown out of it…

Hell, he got shot at and exploded on a daily basis, and this never happened!

What was it about a shirt, a memory, a man… that had brought it back?

 

His hand clenched around the tiny shirt and tried valiantly to let it anchor him to the here and now. Tried to push those negative thoughts away. Eyes roving ceaselessly over the objects strewn about the floor… other memories, good memories.

The first picture at the hospital, with his Ma’s curly handwriting on the front…   
Like his brothers’ pictures, it said, ‘Hello!’, ‘cause she wanted to make sure they always had a reminder of the moment they joined the family for real… it was something her Ma had done, apparently. Scout’d never met his Gran, but she sounded alright enough… from what Ma had said.

Another picture was his brothers all smiling, holding him. Some were practically grown men, but they all beamed with pride, in a semicircle around his hand-me-down crib.

There was a birthday party… he still had the party hat somewhere; they’d made them from notebook paper and coloured them in. Cheaper that way.

And his first steps.

His first day of school.

An embarrassing picture of him as a toddler - _stark naked and giggling_ \- in the sink, which his Ma just LOVED to show off to everyone he’d prefer never see it. 

Somewhere in the box was his first tooth, and then also the one he had knocked out during his first fight alongside his brothers, against another family. They had tried to start something, and the boys had finished it fast… 

His high school certificate was in there, and the fact he had it surprised a lot of people… yeah, he made it through school, he just had trouble with words sometimes. They kinda melted… off pages… when he tried to read them, alright?

 

Nope, that last thought sent a flare of defensiveness throughout his body, exacerbating the situation. He tried to breathe and let it go. 

Focusing on the baseball, the little bat he’d barely been able to hold as a toddler, but used to sleep with because he loved it so much… heh… good times. He was such a dork of a kid…

 

It was… it was okay. He was okay. 

God, Spy was his-…

Nope, not okay. 

 

Ma wouldn’t be back for a bit, and she’d taken all of his straggler siblings, the ones that never moved out, shopping with her.   
‘They gotta get air sometime, hon, or they’ll stagnate like a stilled pond.’ she’d laughed.

He kind of wished one of them had stayed… but then, Jeremy was also really glad no one was seeing him freak out like some kid, again. Ma would get it, but he could think of at least two of his brothers that would be insufferable… mercenary or not, he was still the baby and he never would hear the end of it.

 

His laugh came out odd, but it felt good to make the sound. Like it was undoing a knot in his chest.

Chest. Yeah, that was the word Ma used for the box. Thought it sounded a little fancier than box; which was true, yeah.   
How had this all started with looking through that damn thing?

 

Well, it kinda started back with the bears and the hotdogs and naked soldier (and why did naked soldier almost always mean he was gonna die?), then he had the robot thing and the dream and all, got curious enough to-… to look.

But the box… confirmed it. 

That was the most important thing. 

There was certainty, now. There was a big, fat, real truth smacking him in the face and he’d never be able to pretend it wasn’t there anymore. Not like before, when he sorta had an inkling, but it was easily ignored or discounted.

This was real.

Spy was… his dad.

 

The little shirt with a freaking googly-eyed picture of France on it, was proof that he didn’t have some weird fever-dream back in Russia. It had happened. He’d worn it, toddling about as Spy and his Ma had watched on adoringly… seconds before he’d answered the age-old toddler question of, ‘ _what happens if I put this coin in my mouth and do a cartwheel?_ ’

He was clenching it so tightly, Sc-… Jeremy was afraid it might tear, it was old, after all. But he couldn’t let go. 

Hell, it was the first thing he’d ever had that wasn’t a direct hand-me-down from an older brother ( _or neighbour, or cousin, or-… the list was endless_ ), or a nappy (which were not exactly intergenerational items). It was special to him. 

 

His Ma said… she’d said it was from… someone who cared for him, and from her too. Which he… had always thought meant it was from his dad.

Why the hell couldn’t he have been wrong for once?

 

Still… 

His fingers gently sifted the fabric between them, remembering, recalling through… what did doc call it? Sense memory? He remembered striped red clothes, his mother’s favourite perfume, the big beaded necklace he used to tug on, and a lap he liked to sit on at story time that wasn’t hers…

But where he recalled her face as if it was right there before him, her smile like moonlight beaming down on him as a child; but for his father, there was nothing… just an impression of red, of blue eyes… 

 

And he knew now, why. 

But then, it seemed to make sense to. In that odd rationality all children tended to have… 

He recalled words he didn’t understand, back then. Some were from his Ma, others were… harder than hers, like they weren’t the same language. But he’d known the emotions behind the words, the meaning, the evident affection lacing every foreign syllable. How they followed his every movement, from waking to sleeping… 

 

A small spark of something seemed to ignite inside.

_If… if Spy was his…_

_And back THEN he’d actually cared… then maybe, now he might-…_

 

It was eating him up inside, like some writhing thing at war with itself. It was ridiculous, and he hated feeling so lost, but… he was worried. If he knew, then Spy sure as hell knew and still acted like he hated every inch of Scout’s being with a violent passion. (Which was, to be fair, still only ranked just below the simmering murderous rage Spy felt for the opposing Sniper and his jars of jarate, so there was that.)

This kinda changed everything. The whole dynamic of the team could shift, if he dares to bring it up or… well, fuck, let’s be real, when he tries to bond with Spy more like he always does with the other team members, and the masked bastard shoots him down in flames again. Except now they’d all know, and feel sorry or justified or smug, or whatever… 

It might start some shit between them all. Or, he kinda hoped it might… it would suck if they ALL took Spy’s side against him.

 

…that thought stole his breath away. 

What if they DID all take (His) side?   
Scout wasn’t as important as Spy was, after all… sure he could run at the enemy or snag the intel, but he couldn’t sap sentries (in fact he was banned from touching the sappers after he’d fiddled with them and managed to short out the fridge, washing machine and microwave simultaneously) or backstab.

Everyone saw a Scout coming, they made sure. They were the anti-Spy class, really. It must really gall the Frenchman to know his… kid… was nothing like him; except maybe the eyes. And Scout already knew what the guy thought about his Bostonian accent… maybe he hoped some of that fancy French words thing would rub off. 

Oh… did that make him half-fancypants? Uh, French?

Probably. To both, that is.  
Spy had to be a little disappointed about everything that was… Scout. And he was pretty sure he was half-french by birth, or whatever… 

 

He was worrying the fabric of the old shirt, but it just felt good to have something real he could latch onto during this moment of ~~pure fucking freakout~~   revelation or whatever this was. The anxious energy had ebbed a bit, but not dissipated completely; it was like being all keyed up on bonk, but trapped in a small room or something. Except, the feeling was inside him, and his legs felt like lead, and- and- and-… and, what?

Running wouldn’t help now. Which wasn’t a comforting thought.

Nor was the idea that he was being ridiculous over this, considering how much he’d wanted to know and all, for all those years. How many times had he asked his Ma about his father? Who was he? What was he like? 

…what had Scout done wrong to make him leave?

 

He clenched the tiny shirt in a tight fist, trying to push down the words before they escaped, and failing.   
“ _…when didja stop caring? What was it I did that made ya hate me so much ya can’t stand ta be near me back at base?_ ” he heaved in a breath. As if waiting for the fabric to give him the magic answer. It remained frustratingly silent. 

Scout could feel that emotion from earlier rising, like an ominous, choking cloud. And he hated it. Everything about this was stupid, he shoulda just ignored that weird memory dream thing he’d had… hell, second night on base he’d hallucinated Engie and Medic doing the hula in sock-skirts, thanks to some weird mushrooms Solly had cooked with.  
[He never got worked up enough ta investigate if _that_ really happened or not… but then, the answer would scar him either way in that instance.]

 

…but then, would the truth hurt him as much, if he’d been wrong about the memory… if the shirt hadn't been there…?  
Scout thinks he would have been disappointed, or sad, or relieved, or all of them at once… but mostly, it would have sucked.

_…not as much as proving you not only had a dad,_ who clearly had been in your life more than you thought, _who you knew hated you_. But still. 

 

He takes a shuddering breath and lets it go. 

“ _Don’t matter. Just put it back, never happened… he’s ya dad… and he hates ya… ain’t like that’s rare in this frickin’ family, right?_ ” he mutters, huffing in vague amusement. It was true, those of his brothers who knew their dads (or knew of them) didn’t have the greatest relationships… one or two got on okay, but the rest… not so much. 

Carefully, Scout kneels amongst the strewn items of his ‘baby chest’. He places the shirt to the side for the moment, and begins to gently replace everything else; album first, photos, bat, hair, tooth (well, teeth), baseball, and the random little bric-abrac items he’d barely glanced at. Why his Ma felt she needed to hang onto his crappy macaroni Mother’s Day cards from first grade… he wasn’t sure, but wasn’t gonna question. Ma always had a reason.

…he pauses, with a quiet, ‘Huh’, as he suddenly realises that there are random things missing. Nothing big or important, he just… thought there was at least ONE of them in here…

See, normally, when pressured to make a father’s day card, he’d just get permission to make it for one of his brothers. The oldest one had been twenty-something when Scout arrived, with his own daughter; so it sort of counted. Each year he gave it to the next one, and the next… it was only fair.

But… way back in primary school he’d made two… one for his third brother, and one for… someone he’d hoped would come back and see it. Ma had looked so proud and heartbroken at the sight of it… but she said she’d save it, and put it in the Chest, as Scout watched.

Except… it wasn’t in here.

 

There was a long pause, then Scout shook himself, quashing the past however-long-it-had-been’s torrent of emotions back where they came from, and laughing at himself. Ma probably just snuck it out and tossed it later, so his feelings wouldn’t be hurt…

He turns to pick up the shirt… only to find it missing.

Panic begins to rise, and his brow furrows. What the fuck? He was sure he’d put it just there… right by the pair of clearly tailor made shoes that weren’t there a minute ago.

 

Scout jerks backwards haphazardly, a combination of several almost curse-words mingling together as his mouth moves to make up for the fact his mind is currently paralysed. Oh shit, no… please don’t be-…

_Hell, he’ll take the BLU one at this point._

 

Spy is gazing down at him, not really moving, nor showing any degree of surprise at the mangled fight-or-flight response. He appears entirely impassive about the fact he’s suddenly materialised out of thin air (as was his habit) in the midst of Scout’s Ma’s place.

“Wh-… what are you doing here?” Scout finally manages to scrabble together and direct at the interloper. The runner is fighting his way upright, all elbows and knees as he struggles to rise.

 

Spy says nothing. Not exactly unusual, but it doesn’t help Scout feel any more at ease about this intrusion. 

The Frenchman finally ( _finally_ ) breaks the tension when he can look the runner in the eyes. Uncharacteristically, he sighs tiredly and hesitates just a fraction too long; ensuring Scout is immediately hyper-focused on the situation at hand.  
“Scout… I do not know ‘ow to say zhis, considering you are alive and well, and will most likely recall it zhis time… but, you ‘ave never been a disappointment to me. And yes, I was watching for some time, zhe exact duration I will never disclose… but, most importantly from my observation… I see zhat my absence ‘as ‘urt you more zhan your mother and I ever anticipated it would.”

He’s not wearing gloves, Scout realises, as Spy hands over the small shirt. It was the most bizarre thing…

“I bought zhis for you before you were born. It was always intended to be a joke, your mother insisted for some reason… so I brought it ‘ome after a mission a month before you arrived several weeks early. I ‘ad not thought it would be indicative of future performance, but nonetheless we were delighted to ‘ave you. 

Zhe main problem was our past ‘ad an awful ‘abit of catching up to your dear mother and I. Where she ‘ad put a pause on her espionage career to raise you, the people who would see ‘er destroyed ‘ad not stopped zheir efforts to locate us… in between missions, for whom I cannot reveal for reasons of international security, I often managed to dispose of zheir proxies. 

‘owever, I did not always get zhe majority. When you were born, I was forced to kill an enemy intelligence agent posing as zhe on-call obstetrician, who was seeking revenge on myself over an Italian assassination situation five years beforehand in which zhe senator involved wound up in a… shall we say, _compromising position_ upon death. I will spare you zhe details, but I was _most_ artistic…

Zhe people we are sent to dispatch or manipulate, do not give up, and never forgive such transgressions; nor do zheir successors. We know too much, and ‘ave lived far longer zhan most in our profession. For a while, our abilities and experience allowed us to evade zheir detection… but it did not last.

Shortly after you learned to walk, your mother was forced to kill several agents who ‘ad invaded your old ‘ouse without warning. Zhey ‘ad scoped out the place and managed to circumvent all zhe barriers, alarms and boobytraps set up to keep such as zheir type, out. Just some old employers looking to tie off a loose end… not caring who ‘ad to die to keep their nefarious underhanded dealings out of zhe light of day. Zhey would ‘ave killed you, if zhey ‘ad zhe chance… children are simply collateral to zheir types. 

She knew zhis, and tore zhem apart… 

 

I cannot describe to you her face when I found her afterwards. Your mother was _devastated_ zhat you ‘ad borne witness to such extreme violence at such a young age. But she ‘ad no time to secret you somewhere safe, just respond to zhe armed assault… and ‘ope you would not recall it later on. 

And you, _mon fils_ , just sat zhere on your little yellow baby blanket… surrounded by toys, and utterly covered in blood. Bodies were all about, and you did nothing but smile and request to be picked up with your little grabby 'and signal. I do not zhink she ‘as ever forgotten zhat day, or zhat moment. 

It… left a sour taste in my own mouth, to see you tainted; so I immediately took you to zhe bathroom to wash it off.  Oh, you ‘ad no idea, and laughed like you usually did as the bubbles captivated your ever-inquisitive attention… but it changed something. We ‘ad ‘oped it would not be you, zhat you would not be impacted by what you ‘ad witnessed… but it seems zhat was never an option.”

 

Spy’s expression soured, and Scout knew he was referring to the runner's current employment; and probably all the stuff he’d done on the streets prior to it, to get recognised as a mercenary worthy of Mann Co. employment. It never occurred to him, before, that there was any other reason than ‘ _that’s how you survive in Boston_ ’. 

But Spy was speaking again. “We knew… zhings ‘ad to change. To keep you safe, to keep your siblings safe. Agents could track my movements to a central point, find your mother, use zhe boys… especially _you_ , as leverage against zhe both of us. We could not let zhat ‘appen.

One of us could forge a new identity, and zhe other would ‘ave to keep zhem busy. We argued, over and over, but I pointed out your mother was just zhat. A mother, to eight boys, who needed her more zhan zhey needed a man zhey barely knew, in a paternal role… many of zhem were already men, fathers zhemselves. 

Perhaps it was selfish, but zhat was zhe conclusion we came to. I would remain Spy, and she, your ‘Ma’. It meant I ‘ad to give you both up, except for zhe rare opportunity to visit, or blend into a crowd at important moments of your life…”

 

The photos suddenly made far more sense, in that moment. A snapshot documentary of a child, for a parent who could never know them, never be there for them... except in spirit.

 

Scout startles as Spy places a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder, actually waiting until the runner’s confused expression met his level, cool gaze, before continuing. 

“Scout… _Jeremy_ , _mon fils_ … you _never_ did anything wrong. Zhe reason I left was to protect both of you, and your brothers, from a distance… and I am sorry it came to such lengths, but we could not risk losing you. We loved you too much to jeopardise your life, your future…

Zhere was nothing you could have done, or changed. It was a decision made by your parents in the interests of everyone involved… but how can you explain that to an infant? To zhe ‘eartbroken child, zhe angry youth, and zhen zhe brash young man 'e grows into?

And… I will admit to a certain level of 'ostility when you arrived at RED base. Can you 'onestly understand 'ow much your dear mother and I wanted you to 'ave _nothing_ to do with zhis life? A mercenary, a spy, zhey are always on guard or zhey die… and in our current employment, we die quite frequently, and violently each day. It is not ideal.

But… at least with zhe team, you are protected… as am I, by our teammates; and in turn, we keep zhem safe as well. Zhey ‘ave been a good influence, in some ways… you ‘ave matured before my eyes zhe longer you work with zhem… but in many ways I can see the marks where I ‘ave ‘urt you in my absence… in your mother’s silences on zhe subject of paternity. 

But we ‘ad settled into our allotted roles and interactions, zhere was no way for me to reach out to you zhat would not 'ave you suspicious of my motives. I ‘ad made it clear you were unwelcome, and you reciprocated; admittedly, our clashes are not as visceral  and acidic as when you first arrived… but zhey are now a pattern of behaviour.

Even if zhe others no longer believe in zhe facade of ambivalence I employ in relation to you, now our relationship ‘as been defined more clearly, zhey knew you did not know… or at least, refused to acknowledge it. So it was only brought up in passing, a subtle not-joke to test your reaction on occasion. Zhe bushman often liked to broach zhe subject, from what I ‘ear… 

But of our teammates, Medic noticed first that our DNA strands were too similar to be coincidence. Zhe ‘eavy simply knew, as 'e does many zhings. Demo caught me with my mask off, whilst intoxicated, and seemingly remembered enough to match our features more closely zhan I would prefer.  
Zhe Engineer appeared to work it out within zhe unsaid, during our ‘spats’ as ‘e termed zhem; even offered to mediate, ‘ow nauseating. Sniper simply worked it out, in ‘is way; which is infuriating, in no uncertain terms.

Whether Soldier or zhe Pyro know, I am unclear. Someone must ‘ave told zhem by now… but nonetheless, zhe team knows, and many ‘ave suggested it is time to cease zhe ‘ostilities and tell you zhe truth about your parents. 

 

Zhere are excuses, and I gave zhem to you… but it does not make up for ‘ow ‘arsh I ‘ave been on you in zhe last few years. I ‘ad ‘oped you were just an angry young man who would tire of zhis constant struggle of life and death, would go 'ome and choose another occupation, instead. Except… I zhink we both know zhat is 'ighly unlikely by now. You are persistent, I will give you zhat… zhough, ‘ow your mother and I created such a loud child, I will never know…”

 

Scout actually snorts.

Spy gives a wry smile, squeezing the runner’s shoulder. “You are right, of course,  your mother and I were close when we were young… I know exactly where it ‘as come from, Jeremy. And it is endearing in limited doses, as our teammates ‘ave noticed of late. 

Zhey tried zheir best to keep you alive despite your best efforts…” 

 

“Hey,” Scout sniffs, definitely _not_ having _An Emotion_ about all of this sudden exposition. “The hotdog-bear situation wasn’t my fault…”

“I’m sure it was not,” Spy placates, relaxing slightly now that no explosive reaction seemed to be forthcoming. Honestly, there was a chance he would die via the tiny bat he’d sent for Scout’s second birthday… and wouldn’t that look impressive on his tombstone?  
  
His internal self-congratulatory rhetoric is interrupted by a question that sends him slightly off-kilter.

 

“And…” Scout hesitates, entirely uncharacteristically, “…ya not sayin’ this just to mess with me?” 

 

The espionage agent grasps about for an appropriate response to such a hurtful question, and realises it is entirely valid. In the most assuring tone he can manage, Spy responds, “I would never lie to you about something zhis important, Jeremy. You are my son, and whatever bad blood ‘as passed between us before now, ‘as _passed_.”

“Then… why now?” Scout is struggling to understand this bizarre series of events. It’s almost like something out of a freakin’ soap ( _the ones his fifth-oldest brother swears he doesn’t watch, but god help you if ya wanna watch something else when they’re on_ ). “I mean… we had years at the different bases, and I died, a lot… but-… oh god, are you dying? Is _Ma_ dying? _Who’s dying_?”

 

Spy tightens his grip on the runner. “Non, _mon fils_. No one is dying, everything is as it should be… now simply seemed most appropriate. You ‘ave matured, more zhan ever, recently and it seemed like you could ‘andle zhis conversation without killing me. And…  ‘eavy mentioned you were screaming out zhat I was your father, in Russia… I ‘ad thought you were remembering something; until zhe robot incident.” 

 

“O-oh good…” sighs the runner, fight-or-flight adrenaline dissipating finally. Everyone was safe, and he was okay. “I just… _you’re my dad_?”

“ _Oui_.” Affirmed Spy, though he knew it was not an actual question, and more a bewildered statement. 

“ _You’re_ my _dad_ … and I always wanted ta know that… but I thought ya hated me, like, a lot. And I thought maybe ya hated me ‘cause I did something I didn’t remember, that made ya go away… I’ve spent my entire life stuck between hatin’ the idea of you, and wondering what you’re like. 

And, sure, I kinda had an idea… but it wasn’t til I kinda almost died for real that I remembered the whole thing with the shirt. Then Zhanna was there, and she was asking me ta cheat on Miss P, and I got all muddled, then I hadta fight a Spybot, who was a huge douche and decided ta stab me when I was winnin’…” Scout’s accent was getting thicker the faster he spoke, and Spy had to interject before it got unbearable for someone who had english as a tertiary language. 

“Indeed. Let us not dwell on _unpleasantries_ -… did you say _Zhanna?_  As in zhe woman Soldier is-…”

“Makin’ an ear necklace for? Yeah. She’s alright, when ya quiet. Don’t like Miss P for some reason… think she thinks Miss P likes Solly, but uh… I ain’t great at book reading, but I could read the situation well enough to know it wasn’t his honey-covered nudity she was appreciatin’.” Scout adds, fidgeting with the folded shirt. 

He loved Miss P, and she liked him in a general sort of way he could only fantasise about changing the nature of; but he didn’t think they were on the _same baseball team_ … ‘specially not after that whole thing. 

 

“ _Ah, you noticed, at last_.” Spy murmurs.

“Hey, I _y’aint_ dense!” Scout shouts back, stomping his foot, and utterly delighting in the full-body shudder that ran through Spy at the incorrectly truncated word. He’s laughing, despite the earlier emotional rollercoaster, and it feels great.

“If you promise never to use zhat word, _if it can be loosely termed that_ , again… I will personally teach you to crack a safe using only a belt buckle.” Spy immediately counters. 

Scout grins, “You got a deal, _Spook-Daddy_.”

 “Never call me zhat again or zhe deal is off.”  Spy glares. He softens after a moment. “Now, about zhe situation of earlier… I will not lie, I ‘eard many zhings zhat worried me, a few of which I ‘ave addressed so far. 

I ‘ave told you nothing but zhe truth, and I do not expect it to mend zhe rift between us overnight; but I am ‘oping it will ‘elp zhe process. I was forced to leave for your safety, many years ago; but now you are old enough to ‘elp fight back, and you most likely ‘ave assisted your mother in warding off an unseemly amount of so-called ‘burglars’ over your short lifetime, it is safe to rejoin zhe familial circle publicly. So to speak.

At no point did you do anything to make me leave, it was never your fault, Scout. And… I never stopped caring. _Yes, I 'eard zhat_. I ‘ave watched you struggle with zhis situation for a long time, always being loud to make up for your uncertainty. It is nothing I ‘ave not seen before. But you never fell out of my zhoughts or concerns, Jeremy. You are my son, a loud brat with a surprising skillset considering your parents, _but my son nonetheless_.

We need no longer be so… actively negative towards one another anymore, if that is what you are amenable to. If you wish to continue playing zhe game, for our teammates, I will abide zhat request. Perhaps _-_ … _oof!_ ”

 

Spy is thrown off-guard when he’s suddenly slammed into, Scout throwing himself forwards and wrapping around the other man like an octopus; head full of easily-rufflable hair, pressed into his shoulder. There is a strength in the arms that are coming close to cracking the espionage agent's ribs (must be all the bat-practice the brat persists with at obscene times of night when his near-death experience-induced insomnia strikes).

“Aw, just stop talking _fancypa-_ … _Sp-_ … Dad. It’s okay… I mean, it’s weird and I ain’t gonna be the most buddy-buddy straight up, but it’s okay.” Scout babbles, only relaxing when Spy tentatively returns the embrace. “It’s okay…”

“Indeed, _mon fils_ , all is well.” Spy assures, driving back the torrent of similar memories from so long ago; trying not to wonder how his child grew up so fast, to not compare the little boy he’d held and soothed, with the young man _definitely-not-sobbing_ on his tailor-made suit right now. [As in, the handmade, monk-tailored fabric that he refused to let Sniper even _touch_ for fear of sullying it with his blood.]

The strong fingers rumple his attire as they hold on tighter, a silent plea for Spy not to abandon their owner again.   
In response he strokes the runner’s hair, it had always worked before.

“I am not going anywhere, _mon fils_. I  am 'ere for you as both Jeremy, and Scout; you never need doubt zhat again.” the espionage agent states, tone soft yet vehement. Saying nothing more for a long time, as they just stood there, both trapped in different worlds of thought about how two parallel lives had finally collided -for good or ill. 

 

Scout had his father, and validation that it was not his fault the man had left.   
  
Spy had a chance to explain, to see if he could still be part of his son’s world, now that he was old enough to know why the man had left.

 

It was a long time before Scout indicated he was fine to move away, _definitely not using his bandages to wipe his eyes_. 

Their first father-son activity was to put away the shirt and lock the chest (full of Scout’s meticulously-documented childhood) again. Spy knew everything in it intimately, as it had been his way of knowing his son without direct contact for many years… 

Ah, speaking of the young man… Scout, _Jeremy rather_ , was fairly well exhausted after the whole encounter, and allowed Spy to steer him towards the couch for a nap. Completely forgetting, as he dozed off, to ask about the missing macrame items…

 

Spy, tucking him in as best one can on a couch, smiled at the sight. Knowing full well that, should the question be posed, he would never tell Scout that the rudimentary father’s day construct still existed in a safe place.

 

Let it be a surprise, for when Spy teaches the young man how to crack the safe in his office at base (using only a belt buckle); to open the metallic box wide and see that… atop the piles of currency and false identification documents for all manner of countries, atop jewels and intelligence… sits the espionage agent’s most prized possession.

A little handmade card with a message glued in macaroni pieces, with oddly-sloped writing all over, and full of all the enthusiastic love a small child can muster. His first, and only, father’s day card from Scout. 

 

Spy is drawn from his thoughts on the topic as Scout stirs, then settles. Ever the restless sleeper. He smiles at the notion that, even though things change rapidly, many remain yet constant and reassuring. 

“ _Sleep well, mon fils_.” he murmurs, moves to the adjacent armchair with a cigarette.

 

For the first time in his life, he felt… content. 

_And_ , he thought as the tell-tale footsteps of his Beloved clattered up the staircase to the frontdoor, _it was about to get much, much better._


	2. THERE'S FANART NOW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> EXCITING NEWS

 

**Hey guys, the story is a  self-contained singular chapter, but I added this as the best way to let you know that there's been an AMAZING development???**

 

My _ridiculously talented fanartist friend_ , Camiluna27, read this particular fic of mine the other night and made [THIS AMAZING PIECE OF SCOUT & SPY](http://camiluna27.tumblr.com/post/159238104026/i-am-not-going-anywhere-mon-fils-i-am-ere-for) art **_based on a certain scene_**.

**And if I had to fucking cry over how beautiful it was, then so do you.**

 

Thank you for your attention.

 

 

\- - - - - 

Camiluna27 ([DeviantArt](http://camiluna27.deviantart.com/), [tumblr](http://camiluna27.tumblr.com), [TF2 Forsaken Webcomic](http://tf2forsakencomic.tumblr.com/post/144197413846/forsaken-page-1-and-scottish-underwearsyeah))

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was such a fan of Camiluna27 for so long... (their TF2 Forsaken Webcomic is amazing), so this is just like ?????!!!!! emotionally, to have someone make actual fanart of something I wrote. Not to mention it being one of my fave tf2 artists?
> 
> Still screaming over this. I hope you love it just as much.

**Author's Note:**

> I was of two minds as to whether this counted as fanfic, bc it was impromptu blah written around 3am in a rush... but eh, have my trash and let me know how you feel.  
> \--------------------------------------------------
> 
> PEOPLE... THERE IS OFFICIAL FANART BY THE AMAZING CAMILUNA27!!!!  
> [http://camiluna27.tumblr.com/post/159238104026/i-am-not-going-anywhere-mon-fils-i-am-ere-for]
> 
> >IF YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE DONE CRYING OVER THIS FEELS TRIP, THEN CHECK OUT THIS MIND-BLOWING ART BECAUSE I ASSURE YOU... YOU ARE NOT


End file.
